Look To The Light.

tastefullyoffensive: [via]

Fri, 17 May 2013 23:09:10 -0700

tastefullyoffensive:

[via]

Photo

Fri, 17 May 2013 23:08:49 -0700

nevver: Christian Bök & Micah Lexier

Fri, 17 May 2013 23:08:09 -0700

nevver:

Christian Bök & Micah Lexier

iraffiruse: Snake Eggs

Fri, 17 May 2013 21:15:10 -0700

iraffiruse:

Snake Eggs

Photo

Thu, 16 May 2013 22:41:06 -0700

cataclysmmagazine: Scenery - The Great Gatsby (2013)

Thu, 16 May 2013 21:17:17 -0700

cataclysmmagazine:

Scenery - The Great Gatsby (2013)

likeafieldmouse: Typewriters of famous authors

Thu, 16 May 2013 21:13:03 -0700

likeafieldmouse:

Typewriters of famous authors

Photo

Thu, 16 May 2013 21:12:37 -0700

The Origins of 9 Great British Insults

Thu, 16 May 2013 21:12:14 -0700

The Origins of 9 Great British Insults:

nevver:

WAZZOCK
Wazzock was a particularly prevalent—and particularly loutish—insult in the 1990s. At the time, “lad culture” ran throughout British music and television, and wazzock, a North-England accented contraction of the sarcastic wiseacre (a know-it-all) became a powerful tool to shoot people down in an argument.

LUMMOX
Though the etymology of lummox is heavily disputed, one thing is for certain: It came from East Anglia, the coastal outcrop of Britain above London. There, around 1825, someone threw out the word as an insult, and it stuck, becoming a typically British go-to term. Some linguists believe it comes from the verb lummock, which typified a lummox: it means a clumsy oaf.

SKIVER
Skivers and shirkers are one and the same. Someone who manages to duck under any responsibility and loaf around, doing very little, is a skiver. The origins of this particular insult are contested: some think it’s from an Old Norse word—skifa—meaning “slice,” whereby the worker slices off as much work as possible.

MINGER
Often hurled at the opposite sex, to call someone a minger is to say they are objectively unattractive. Though etymologists struggle to agree where the word came from, it seems likely that it stems from the Old Scots word meng, meaning “sh**.” We didn’t say it was pretty.

NINCOMPOOP
For such a colloquial word, nincompoop actually has a very learned past. Samuel Johnson, the compiler of England’s first proper dictionary, claims the word comes from the Latin phrase non compos mentis (“not of right mind”), and was originally a legal term.

PILLOCK
As words are used more regularly, the laziness of pronunciation can often warp them slightly. So it was with pillock. Originally pillicock (a Norwegian slang word for penis), the word has since been condensed to plain old pillock—though its meaning remains.

CLOD HOPPER
According to the brilliant Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue, dating back to 1811 and compiled by Captain Francis Grose, a clod hopper refers to a country farmer or ploughman—with the implication nowadays that you’re slow witted and bumbling.

DUNAKER
Grose’s Dictionary of vulgarities is a rich seam of overlooked insults. In the 200 years since it was published, there have been several terms that have fallen out of favor. One of them is dunaker, a common thief of cows and calves.

GIT
By calling someone a git, you’re invoking the old Scots word get, which means “bastard.” When it came down south of the border, it lost its harsh vowel sound and became something softer, albeit with the required spikiness in.

nevver: An exhilarating process of decay

Thu, 16 May 2013 21:11:19 -0700

instagram.com/showstudio_nick_knight

instagram.com/showstudio_nick_knight

instagram.com/showstudio_nick_knight

nevver:

An exhilarating process of decay

eatsleepdraw: blenders!

Thu, 16 May 2013 21:10:49 -0700

eatsleepdraw:

blenders!

cheese3d: nothings worse than soft grapes

Tue, 14 May 2013 20:23:25 -0700

cheese3d:

nothings worse than soft grapes

Photo

Tue, 14 May 2013 20:16:24 -0700

"Until we have seen someone’s darkness, we don’t really know who they are. Until we have forgiven..."

Tue, 14 May 2013 20:16:00 -0700

“Until we have seen someone’s darkness, we don’t really know who they are. Until we have forgiven someone’s darkness, we don’t really know what love is.”

- Marianne Williamson (via everydaybike)

nevver: How to bend light

Tue, 14 May 2013 20:15:32 -0700

Sølve Sundsbø

Sølve Sundsbø

Sølve Sundsbø

nevver:

How to bend light

"All the poets that you love listening to love lying to you. I’m not that egocentric to make you..."

Tue, 14 May 2013 20:14:00 -0700

“

All the poets that you love listening to
love lying to you.
I’m not that egocentric to make you believe that I’m not one of them.
I lie all the time,
mostly up here.

See, I’ve been doing this for a little while
and I’m starting to understand things:
poetry is not about telling you the truth.
It’s about telling you the version of a story
that gets the most reaction,
the one that flows the best on the mic,
the one that has all the lines
that the audience is going to like.

See, maybe the truth
isn’t supposed to rhyme so well.
Maybe it doesn’t have to rise to a crescendo.
The truth
never sounded like sound bites
and name dropping.

I promised myself I wouldn’t write poems about poetry,
but I woke up at 3 AM the other morning
and started spitting out all these lies that I couldn’t roll off my tongue
and thought that maybe at this hour
I could write a poem about honesty
without having to choreograph the hook at the end.

I woke up at 3 AM
and I’m having trouble remembering how to spell the word “wouldn’t”.

Four years ago, I featured at a youth slam in Jersey City,
and tried to show some children how poetry is supposed to sound cool.

Jessica sat in the front row
thinking I could teach her about spoken word.
I lied to her, in metaphor, for a half hour
only to hear the silence of a fifth grade explosion;
Jessica explained it to her thirteen year old peers
how rough her father’s beard stubble felt when her was drinking
and how a foster family is just a fresh coat of paint over stucco
when you’ve been running against the wall.

She didn’t actually say all this.
Not like I can.
But I could hear the inhalation of truth
in between breaths of her poetry.
Her name is not really Jessica.
I don’t remember what it is.
But for a moment, I can make you care about her,
even if she’s not real.

Don’t ask me.
You wouldn’t know the difference anyway.

I don’t write poems about honesty.
I’ve written three poems this year to make me sound cute to girls,
but not one about the medication that I’m taking
because there are some things
that I don’t fucking talk about.
Why am I 33 years old and still trying to sound cute to girls?

A couple weeks ago,
two friends asked me how my roommate is doing.

I use the word “roommate”
instead of referring to her as the girl I’m afraid of falling in love with
because she is the most beautiful overturned school bus that I have ever seen
and I slow down sometimes to watch the trauma.

And because she knows me.
Like how she knows that I look in the mirror too much,
and I always eat the last peanut butter cup,
and I fuck girls with my poems,
and use the word “roommate” too loosely.

And the poet in me
should’ve told them she’s doing just fine,
but I hadn’t memorized all the lines yet.
My best friend is not doing fine,
and I can’t fix it.

The students in my class
like me because I say the word “bullshit” during my lectures
and let them out early.

They don’t see that fear has me losing focus on the bullet points
when I’m thinking about how many slit wrists I’ll return home to tonight.
My roommate’s not suicidal
But it sounds sexier than saying
that she closes her eyes sometimes
when she’s changing lanes.

I lie.
Because it keeps me driving to work
instead of holding her all night and crying.

I need somebody to talk to
but poetry helps you meet people who want to fuck poets.
Who do you talk to when your best friend is biting off her cuticles,
while other girls are sharpening their nails?

I need to go to bed now.
I’m sorry I lied.
I’ll write the rest of this poem tomorrow,
when I can differentiate what’s none of your fucking business
and write poems with hooks that rhyme.
It doesn’t matter what you believe.
I’m tired of being the strong one all the time.

”

- Chad Anderson, “Liars, All of Us” (via pigmenting)

consultingsuperhusbands: glorzsz: Oww do you know how happy...

Tue, 14 May 2013 20:13:56 -0700

consultingsuperhusbands:

glorzsz:

Oww

do you know how happy these make me

Writings for Winter: first loves

Mon, 13 May 2013 00:23:07 -0700

Writings for Winter: first loves:

writingsforwinter:

You know, I don’t think you ever really forget your first love. They’re the one that made your second love possible. Sometimes you want to throw your hands up in the air and say Fuck it to them, but they paved the way for all the other bodies after them. There’s so much beauty in every…

colonelmustangsnipples: I AM ACTUALLY REALLY RELIEVED THAT...

Wed, 08 May 2013 23:38:36 -0700

colonelmustangsnipples:

I AM ACTUALLY REALLY RELIEVED THAT EMINEM DOESN’T SWEAR IN FRONT OF HIS KIDS

"She struggled with her sadness, but tried to conceal it, to divide it into smaller and smaller parts..."

Wed, 08 May 2013 23:38:08 -0700

“She struggled with her sadness, but tried to conceal it, to divide it into smaller and smaller parts and scatter these in places she thought no one would find them.”

- Great House by Nicole Krauss (via mphny)